by Xani
As some of you may know, EP and I are lawyers. So are our parents, and so is Dave, my boyfriend. I mention this as background/explanation for why, on Sunday night, after many, many cocktails, and many, many pounds of lobster, the five of us were discussing not family memories, not the fate of the O's season, but copyright infringement and the intricacies of changing, using, re-printing, and selling a recipe.
This is normal for us. In fact, Dad recently purchased this little torture device so that, when we run out of our own hypothetical questions, we now have literally thousands of legal quandaries at our fingertips. Joy. But this past Sunday we were discussing a real-world scenario involving pie.
You see, we had just finished an amazing, belated Father's Day dinner. We drank champagne, slurped uni shooters (not for the faint of heart, as they included uni, ponzu, tobiko, sake, hot sauce, and a raw quail egg yolk), ate the season's first green tomatoes, pan-fried with remoulade sauce, then tucked into 12.5 pounds of lobster and my best-ever batch of onion rings. And then, it was time for pie.
